


Sometimes You Gotta Wing It

by redrobin1989



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Wing Grooming, but its more about love and less about other squishy human things, there's like implied romance in here, this is just your mark one motto wing fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 12:04:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19425613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redrobin1989/pseuds/redrobin1989
Summary: Crowley stretches his wings out all the time, Aziraphale doesn't and Crowley is determined to find out why his angel is so afraid to reveal God's first gift to them.





	Sometimes You Gotta Wing It

“Mr. Angel, Mr. Snake,” Wensely says primly from his spot on the grass. Since the last time Crowley and Aziraphale had visited Tadfield and the demon had transformed into his serpent form to scare the Them and instead delighted them, they had called him nothing since. He did a horrible job pretending he didn’t love the name. “Can you show us your wings?”

“Whut?” Crowley said with a little raised eyebrow, pulling his head up from where it was leaned up against a tree. He’d been counting how many years it had been from the 14th century, quite delightful really. 

“I beg pardon?” Aziraphale breathed out, dramatically putting his hand to his chest like a dainty southern bell.

“Well, Adam was telling us you had big wings. He saw them during the uh,” the boy’s face scrunched up, unable to properly articulate nor even well remember the events at the airfield. Just that the world hadn’t ended and two weirdos claiming they were angels and demons checked up on them every once in a while. “Thing that happened, they came out like uh, was it a _whoosh?_ ” he asked, the latter question being directed to his leader.

“Or was it a pop?” Brian asked, popping his lips for effect.

“Or a loud bang like throwing pots down a staircase?” Pepper joined in.

“Why ever would you throw pots down a staircase,” Anathema asked wearily from over her book. She ended up watching the Them a lot, the only adult in the village who could somewhat control them, and always made sure to be there when _the Book Stealers_ were lurking about. 

“Because you’ve gone potty?” Newt suggested helpfully with a wry, knowing little grin. He was only here because Anathema was which he now regretted as she bonked him over the head with her book.

“Anyhow,” Adam diverted with a roll of his eyes, “there really wasn’t a sound, more like how wind goes through leaves, you blinked and they were there but, yeah, can we see them again?”

“Sure,” Crowley shrugged.

“Absolutely not,” Aziraphale thundered.

The pair looked at each other with equally confused faces. 

“You can’t just,” the angel hissed.

“Why not?” the demon responded, already sitting up a bit to remove his leather jacket. Next to him, Aziraphale set down his travel thermos of tea and fumbled with his hands like he had no idea what to do with them. 

“They’re _children_ ,” there are certain incredulous looks you can only give people you’ve known a very, very long time and are very, very fond of and they’ve just said something incredibly, amazingly stupid. Given the history between them, the look Crowley gave Aziraphale was so withering, the humans in the vicinity had to avert their eyes.

“I’m showing them my wings not my w-”

“Ahem,” Anathema interrupted, loudly clearing her throat. Crowley continued to pull off his jacket, neatly hanging it on one of the low-lying branches as he stood up from underneath the tree. 

“I don’t see what you’re all riled up for, angel, it’s not like we’re hiding from them and besides, its good to stretch out the old wing bones once in a while,” Crowley insisted, rolling his shoulders before pausing in thought. “Actually, before the whole Apocalypse thing, I hadn’t seen your pearly whites in a while.”

“You can’t just,” Aziraphale emphasized tightly holding onto his hands before letting go and taking a short breath. “Our wings are divine gifts from God, they are not- you can’t just take them out when you see fit. By pulling them out they leave God’s domain and become material. It’s… disrespectful.”

Crowley lowered his sunglasses at his partner is stunned disbelief. “Are you telling me you never open your wings up here on Earth. Even in private.”

“Well I uh. Yes, that is indeed what I am saying,” Aziraphale said confidently only not really as he recognized the determined, mischievous look in the wily serpent’s eyes. He stalked over and dragged the angel to his feet, immediately working on pulling off the other’s jacket.

“Oh dear,” Newt said even as the Them cheered. “Maybe we really ought to take the children away before more clothes are removed.”

“Get off of me, I mean it you… you… _Anthony_!” Aziraphale said, slapping the demon’s hands away even as Crowley successful at prying off his jacket.

“Oh don’t be such a wet blanket,” Crowley teased only to catch sight of the genuinely uncomfortable look on the angel’s face. He sneered and stepped back a little, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Look you called your wings gifts? Yeah, well gifts are meant to be used, loved, shared or else they don’t mean nothin’. God loves you, probably loved me at one point before I asked annoying questions so we got these wings.” His words were emphasized by a uncovering of dark raven colored wings suddenly materializing out of convenient slits on his shirt, stretching high up to the heavens before settling comfortably on his back. 

The Them ohhed and ahhed, immediately getting up and running their small hands through the dark feathers, the wings twitching minutely at their touch. Even Anathema and Newt, gazed with open wonder at the sight of what looked like a man with the wings of a bird. Aziraphale’s hurt expression softened somewhat at the gentle feeling of simple happiness radiating from the humans.

“I had to fall from Heaven to appreciate what I was given, I don’t want the same to happen to you,” Crowley said, once more pushing his sunglasses up and turning down to advise the children to be gentle. He didn’t want to see Aziraphale smile, see his shoulders relax, see him mull over Crowley’s words like they were important, like _they_ were important. He did smile, just a little, at the barely imperceptible sound of unfurling wings and the burst of white out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, shaking himself out a little as a few loose feathers fell to the ground and quickly evaporated into light. “I suppose it’s been a little while since I’ve tidied them.” But despite the mess, the children still flocked to him, running their grubby, dirty fingers along his pristine white wings. But that didn’t seem so important, nothing really seemed so urgent in the days following what almost was the end of the world. 

Certainly nothing could be more important than the sound of children laughing, young lovers holding hands under a tree watching and the most important person in his life, standing there with dark wings lighting up in the sun, almost but not quite, appearing angelic in the sunlight. And he supposed his wings too, hidden somewhat by the treetops appeared a little darker, a bit more demonic. But that was the beauty of the Earth, you could be whatever you wanted regardless of where you came.

“When we get back to London, we’ll head back to my place and I’ll clean those up for you a bit,” Crowley said casually as he playfully lifted his wings out of reach as Brian tried to snag a feather. “You can return the favor, there’s some in the back I haven’t been able to reach in ages.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said with a light, contented tone. Some Heavens couldn’t be found in the skies but right here on solid ground. “I would like that.”


End file.
